


You Are Now Friendly With Thunder Bluff

by DevilishKurumi



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Anthropomorphic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishKurumi/pseuds/DevilishKurumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Paladin takes a break while fighting beasts in the Barrens, and he meets a Tauren warrior who seems to have a family history of macking on other races.  Pre-Cataclysm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are Now Friendly With Thunder Bluff

**Author's Note:**

> First published to the internet in 2008, in simpler times, when Blood Elves were all addicted to magic and the Barrens weren't split in half by a giant dragon whose firebreath gives you an achievement. Hopefully it's decent enough for public consumption once again.
> 
> Oh yeah, and this has some semi-graphic smut involving a Tauren in it. Not everyone's cup of tea, but hey. It happens.

            The desert region of Kalimdor known as the Barrens is miserably hot and dusty.  Armenas has come to quickly realize just how apt the title of this region is – the entire desert is unfit for life, and yet it seems to still teem with it.  Zhevras, plainstriders, hyenas...  They are just a few of the many animals to make their home in this desolate place.

            Armenas really doesn’t it.

            The dirt and dust often kicked up by infuriated plains-animals gets into his hair up to the roots, and it’s a long and arduous task to remove it and repair the damage.  The hyenas and lions often sneak up on him when he finally finds shade under a tree so he can rest, driving him into the blistering sun once again.  Worst of all, all the tasks he’s given seem to be nothing more than population control – kill this, kill that, retrieve items lost by buffoons – and it’s really starting to grate on his nerves.

            He’s running low on food, but luckily, he’s been smartly rationing his water, and so it won’t be such a strenuous trek back to the Crossroads, where he can restock himself.  The sin’dorei paladin decides, after only a scant few hours in the blazing sun, fighting off hyenas and raptors alike, that perhaps it’s time for a rest.  He thoroughly investigates a small, scraggly tree for any signs of life, but aside from a few equally scraggly birds resting in its branches, it seems to be safe.  He imagines that the predators of the Barrens prefer the larger umbrella trees for their resting places – and it’s obvious why; this dying tree barely gives enough shade to cover him.

            Heaving a long, drawn out sigh, Armenas sits at the base of the tree, dropping his packs to the side of him, and takes to removing the heavy mail armor he’s been wandering around in.  His shirt is soaked in sweat, but he leaves it on – if any breeze should happen to pick up, the coolness would be a welcome change.  He does, of course, remove the majority of his armor, leaving himself in his leggings, undershirt, and boots.  His sword is nearby, and he’s certain that he can hold off a lion like this.

            Once he’s comfortable, the paladin quickly digs through his satchel for food and drink, pulling out a meager lunch of an apple and water.  Armenas isn’t particularly picky when it comes to eating, and after spending so much time in the hot sun, this is quite a feast.  He forces himself to eat slowly, consuming the apple down to the core and sucking most of the juice out of it, and then moves on to the flask of water, which is already half-empty.

            As he drinks, he takes in the dull landscape surrounding him.  He’s not far from the Gold Road, and the heat shimmers off the packed earth in all directions.  There’s a distant roar of a lion, and he can only imagine that it’s caught either a sick antelope or another wanderer.

            The heavy thudding of hooves causes Armenas to twist in his seat, eyeing the distant road to the south in mild apprehension.  Members of the Alliance have been becoming steadily more common in these parts as of late, and it wouldn’t do to be caught with his armor off against an intelligent foe.  Lions are one thing – a skilled human warrior is quite another.  He slowly relaxes as the shimmering heat shows him the mere outline of what looks to be a Tauren following the road north; though he hasn’t had many dealings with the cattle-like race, he has no particular reason to be wary of them.

            When the Tauren’s features come into view, Armenas notices that he looks distinctly tired, slouching along at a slow plod.  Thinking it best to extend a friendly greeting, rather than simply letting the cow pass by, the sin’dorei pushes himself to his feet, taking another sip from his canteen before waving to the Tauren.

            It almost seems as though the Tauren won’t see him, too focused on walking to pay attention to his surroundings, but he finally looks up and stops, staring at Armenas in confusion before starting over to him.  Armenas smiles as best he can in the heat, gesturing over towards his rather horrible little attempt at camp.

            “Did you need some help?”

            The Tauren’s voice is low and rough around the edges, sounding almost disenchanted when compared to the calm, measured tones of the Tauren Armenas has dealt with before.  It gives him pause, if only for a moment, and then he shakes his head, sitting down beside his armor once again.

            “No, not at all – quite the other way around, really.  You look a bit worn – would you like some water?”

            The Tauren blinks at him dumbly for a moment, and then nods, managing a tired smile in his direction as he comes up to sit beside the sin’dorei.  “That’d be nice, yeah.”  Armenas wastes little time in digging out another canteen, handing it over to the Tauren before taking back to his own water.

            The Tauren restrains himself from gulping down all the water at once, but even with that, he still manages to dribble some into the short fur around his muzzle.  It’s strange, watching a Tauren drink, and Armenas finds himself staring.

            “What is it?”

            The sin’dorei blinks, and then hastily turns his eyes back to his own water.  “Oh – forgive me, that was rude.”

            “Never been around us before, huh.”

            “Not for long, no,” Armenas admits sheepishly, relaxing a little when the Tauren smiles at him (or at least _seems_ to; it isn’t easy to tell).  “I’m sorry.”

            “For what, staring?”  The cow shrugs his shoulders and goes back to his canteen.  “Don’t be.  Lots of people do it.”

            Armenas looks away after a moment and goes back to his own water, frowning as he drinks.  He can’t help but wonder how Taurens came to join the Horde in the first place.  They seem... less bloodthirsty than the other races; even his own shows more cruelty than the Taurens do.  Nevertheless, he’s a bit relieved that they _are_ oh his side – the warrior is providing him with a calm, quiet presence that’s rather comfortable.

            After a few minutes, however, Armenas feels the Tauren shift.  He wonders if it’s time for the Tauren to move on, but when he looks over, it seems as though the other has fallen asleep.  It _is_ very hot out, and the other had seemed very tired...  He carefully removes the canteen from the Tauren’s paws, corking it and putting it down beside himself, in case the Tauren should wake and want another drink.

            Armenas then realizes with some relief that he’ll simply have to stay here while the Tauren sleeps, as he would be leaving the other defenseless.  The sin’dorei doesn’t mind in the slightest.  He sits back against the tree as best he can, arm brushing against the larger forearm of the Tauren as he does so.  He listens, quietly, to the Tauren’s breathing; it’s slow, hitching every few moments as though there’s something caught in his throat.

            He wonders idly what the Tauren’s name might be.  It tends to be a name surrounded in mysticism or at least nature – many times, they take names that represent their duty in life.  It’s a strange, slightly archaic system, much like the rest of their culture, but he doesn’t think it’s bad.  He knows what it means to hold on to tradition.  It’s why he’s a paladin, after all.

           The Tauren’s breathing begins to grow shallow and slower, drawing Armenas’ attention.  It sounds unhealthy, wrong, and so he leans over and gives the Tauren a scrutinizing once-over with a critical eye.  It takes a moment, but he finally notices a strange, dark blotch spreading slowly under the chain armor.  _What is he thinking?_   Armenas finds himself thinking in a sudden panic, reaching out his hands to press down on the wound.

            The sin’dorei calls forth the Light that he’s been training so hard to master, bringing it down so that he can heal the Tauren’s wound.  It’s only as he leans close that he sees that the Tauren is, in fact, awake; his eyes are closed to slits, but he’s staring at Armenas dully, eyes glazed.

            “Are you _mad,_ you damned cow?” Armenas hisses, too focused on channeling the Light to be very angry.  “You could have died here!”  He begins to pull his hands away, the wound healed, but the Tauren grabs his wrists in a tight hold with one paw, eyes still narrowed and voice harsh.

            “ _Don’t_ call me ‘ _cow._ ’”

            Armenas is both taken aback and irritated by the Tauren’s response – he’s never seen a Tauren angry, and it’s very... intimidating.  But still – he just saved his _life!_

            “...Forgive me.  That was uncalled for.  But – why didn’t you _say_ anything?  Surely you realized I am a paladin!”

            The Tauren is silent, and then he grumbles quietly, “I am a warrior – we don’t need your kind.  We are stronger than you.  We don’t need your _mana._ ”

            It’s such an egotistical, selfish statement that Armenas simply cannot find the words.

            “...I believe,” he finally says slowly, “I just saved your _life_ with my mana.”

            “I didn’t _ask_ you to.”

            “As if I need _permission_ to save another’s life!”

            The Tauren simply glares sullenly, paw still wrapped around the sin’dorei’s wrists.  Armenas doesn’t _understand_ what the warrior’s _problem_ is.

            “What’s your name?” he finally asks, trying to diffuse this strangely, suddenly hostile situation.  The Tauren stares dumbly at him for a moment.

            “Corun.”

            “That’s it?” the sin’dorei asks, frowning, “No surname, clan name, anything of the sort?”

            “Why?” Corun growls, “Are we supposed to all have names like Windwalker or Plainsrunner?”

            Armenas frowns in frustration.  “No, I was just asking.”  Corun simply grumbles in response, paw still on the sin’dorei’s wrists.  “You can let go now.  I won’t make the mistake of saving your life again.”

            The Tauren stares at him for a moment and then, instead of removing his paw, simply asks, “What is _your_ name?”  There’s a strange sort of challenge in the Tauren’s tone, and Armenas frowns.  How should he answer that?  Should he give his own surname?  Or would Corun just laugh at it?

            “...Armenas.”

            “Just Armenas?” Corun replies snidely.

            “Just Armenas.”

            The Tauren snorts and releases Armenas’ wrists, though neither moves beyond that.  The sin’dorei remains kneeling half-over Corun, and the Tauren does nothing in the way of pushing him away.  It’s a bit odd to be this close to a Tauren – or anyone, really.

            “So,” the Tauren finally says, “You felt like saving my life.”

            “It’s a bad habit, I admit,” Armenas replies dryly.

            “To be truthful, I never expected to owe my life to an elf.  You’re much smaller than me,” he elaborates, “And I assumed my life would only be in danger in battle.”

            “That attitude will get you killed.”

            “I see.”  Corun shifts, drawing closer briefly.  “Do you give massages, as well?  This tree is doing a number on my back.”

            Armenas feels a bit of good-natured indignation, and he grumbles, pulling away.  It comes as a bit of a shock when the Tauren grabs his wrists again, eyeing him critically.  It’s a strong, heavy look that makes the sin’dorei’s stomach flutter.

            Finally Corun speaks.

            “You aren’t a girl, are you?”

            Armenas blinks, then growls and smacks the other as best he can while his hands are held.  “What in blazes are you implying?”

            “All you elves look like women.”  His other paw reaches up and grabs Armenas’ chin, lifting it up a bit.  “It’s a bit odd.”

            The sin’dorei jerks his chin away, snarling.  “I’m sorry I don’t have giant shoulders and an ugly face like _other races._ ”

            “Are you implying-?”

            “That you have an ugly face?  _Yes._ ”  Armenas half-braces himself for a fight as he says it, and is therefore shocked when Corun chuckles and releases his wrists.

            “I’m considered to have a very feminine face.”

            Armenas stares at him for a moment, trying to replicate that heavy feeling in his own gaze.  “I fail to see it.”

            “Well, for one – I have little facial hair.  My muzzle is smoother than most others’, as well.”

            “And your horns are...?”

            Corun shrugs.  “They make no difference.  Some of us file them down.”  He looks at Armenas.  “And you?”

            “What?  ...My face?  It’s an average face-”

            “What about your _ears?_ ”

            “What about them?”

            “Are _they_ indicators of masculinity?”

           Corun is honestly curious and Armenas chuckles.  “No, not particularly – we focus on heritage more than masculinity, at any rate.  Shorter ears simply imply that one’s lineage has introduced human genes at some point.”  He shrugs, adding, “The shorter they are, the more recent the introduction.”

            “So the women stand around observing _ear length?_ ”

            “And skin tone.”  Armenas has his hands on Corun’s chest now, subconsciously aware of it but not making any effort to move.  “Tan skin is healthy.  Paler skin means you rarely leave the City.  Most of us have some form of green tint to our skin, usually under our eyes.”  His own eyes are a deep green that hides his weakness well.  The skin under them hasn’t been heavily green for months.

            “And?”

            “ _And,_ ” Armenas says mildly, “The more obvious the green is, the more often we partake in arcane magic.”

            “Oh.”  Corun’s expression deepens, and Armenas can see that he knows why that would be important.  He also seems to be examining the sin’dorei’s eyes, which makes him chuckle.

            “Don’t worry, I’m quite healthy.”

            “Good.  The last thing I need is to be saved by some sort of addict.”

            “No – I’m not suffering from any sort of addiction.  The Light helps with it.”

            Corun reaches up a paw and flicks Armenas’ right ear.  “What about _your_ kind?” Armenas asks in annoyance, still not pulling away.

            “Don’t know.”

            “How can you not _know_?”

            “I don’t spend a lot of time with _my_ kind, is all.  Not interesting to me.”

            “Oh.”

            It’s strange that it’s only now he’s focusing on his hands on Corun’s chest, or on how close his legs are to the Tauren’s, or on how _warm_ the other is.

            “It’s strange, I know.”  The Tauren’s paw comes up to pat Armenas on the head.  “But don’t look so shocked.  My sister is courting an Orc.”

            “So, it’s... a family trait?” Armenas asks, making no move away from the paw on his head.

            “Not sure.  Mother and father are both fonder of each other than any other race.”

            “Is that why...”  The sin’dorei’s voice sounds odd to his own ears, and so he pauses and then tries again.  “Why you keep petting my hair?”

            “Maybe.”

            “...Oh.”

            “Keep in mind that I’m certainly not going beyond it.”  That, surprisingly, ignites a bit of disappointment in the sin’dorei.  “You’re being a good sport about all this, either way.”

            “Well,” Armenas replies with a false sense of casualness, trying to subtly shuffle closer, “We elves like to keep our reputations good.”

            “Good racial relations, eh?”

            “Every little bit helps.”

            Corun’s fingers drop behind Armenas’ ear, one pressing down against the skin behind it.  It sends a hot flash through the sin’dorei’s stomach, and he closes his eyes to regain composure.  The finger doesn’t move.

            “You sure you aren’t a girl?” Corun asks in an amused tone.

            “Would you shut up and just – kiss me!”

            Armenas snaps his mouth shut – where had _that_ come from? – but his jaw nearly drops open again when Corun shrugs and obliges his request.

            Kissing a Tauren isn’t like kissing another sin’dorei at all.  It’s almost more delicate, since their faces can’t get much closer than they already are.  Armenas’ hands grasp at Corun’s armor, pulling himself up higher.  Corun’s paw tightens around his wrists, the other pressing down on the skin behind his ear.  Armenas can’t completely keep back a moan now – especially since they’re in such a position.  It would be silly to stay quiet at this point.

            It’s strange to feel those odd, almost tusk-like canines press up against his mouth, and it’s even stranger to note that Corun does actually seem to have lips that can move almost like any other races’ – almost.  Armenas groans and Corun releases his wrists in order to pull him up fully onto his chest, paw now pressing down on the small of his back.

            Armenas can feel his blood pooling and he tries to decide if it would be wise to shift a bit and relieve the tension, but he decides against it when Corun’s fingers press down on a knot in his back, pushing in such a way that he completely unravels the muscle back into relaxation.

            “ _Ah,_ ” he says, looking at Corun, “I thought you were asking _me_ for massages?”

            “I can’t reach my own back,” the Tauren responds, pressing his mouth against the sin’dorei’s again.  Armenas doesn’t complain and instead wriggles against the other’s mail.  He slips a bit, pressing in close and trying to find a good place for him to settle in, but it’s hard.  Taurens and sin’dorei don’t seem to be very compatible, physically – that is, until he finds the dip of Corun’s stomach.  It’s slightly concave and has just the right dip in it for him to press against, and it makes the Tauren moan a little.  Armenas keeps himself pressed against as much of the Tauren as he can, one hand reaching up from its hold on his armor to pull at Corun’s fur, earning another little groan and a light rocking motion that pushes him just a bit further down –

            “ _Oh,_ ” Armenas hisses, back straightening out as he stiffens, “My.”

            Corun blinks and looks at Armenas in confusion, before realizing just what the sin’dorei’s found.  “Oh – yeah.  That’s why I wasn’t going to go beyond the hair-petting.”

            “...That may be a problem.”

            Corun chuckles and shakes his head.  “Not exactly planning on mounting you, elf.”

            “I would hope _not_!” Armenas replies crossly, giving Corun a glare for either assuming such a thing was even _possible_ or for teasing him about it.  In response, the Tauren just shifts a bit more and pulls at the sin’dorei’s hair, forcing him up enough for another kiss.  Even with this new... development, Armenas can’t exactly find it in himself to resist the other, pressing right back up against the Tauren and ignoring any hesitance he might have.

            His hand moves from gripping at Corun’s fur to grabbing a horn, and he finds his breathing going a bit ragged.  Armenas can’t decide where this might be going, but he knows that he wouldn’t be able to pull away or pause for even a moment.  Corun’s paws wander very nearly everywhere, tugging at his chain mail and his hair, pressing into tense muscles so that they might relax – everything the Tauren touches either relaxes the sin’dorei or just riles him up again.

            The Barrens is sweltering normally, but under these circumstances, Armenas has trouble breathing.  Corun notices and pulls away a bit, looking at him in mixed concern and amusement.  “Do you want to stop?”

            “No,” Armenas gasps – that’s the _last_ thing he wants to do – “I just – it’s too _hot!_ ”  He pauses, breathing heavily through his nose, and starts pulling at him shirt and thin chain mail vest.

            “Certainly eager, aren’t you?” Corun laughs, reaching to help him nonetheless.  They get his armor off quickly enough (though not quickly enough for Armenas’ liking), but before the sin’dorei can lean back in, Corun reaches out and runs his fingers over his bare, sweaty chest.  Armenas moans quietly, tilting his head back and closing his eyes against the desert sun.

            “I don’t know how you can survive, with such thin skin.”

            Armenas can’t keep back his own retort, “You didn’t do such a good job with your thick hide.”  Corun simply laughs and drags his fingertips lower, skirting down the sides of the sin’dorei’s thighs before moving to his own armor.  Armenas, whose eyes had locked onto the movement of the Tauren’s paws, exhales sharply and reaches to help Corun in return.  It takes a few moments longer with the Tauren’s armor, as he hadn’t shorn most of it off already, but Armenas doesn’t particularly mind – he makes up for lost time by immediately burying his hands into Corun’s thick, tawny fur.  He can feel, oddly enough, the faint traces of scarred flesh underneath all of his fur, but it seems as though the hair simply grows back over, even with the freshest scars.

            So wrapped up in his exploration is he that he doesn’t realize how worked up he’s making Corun until the Tauren grabs his wrists again and pulls him up for a hot, demanding kiss.  It’s more like licking, really, since the Tauren is so frantic, but that doesn’t matter to Armenas.  It’s distracting enough on its own, and it feels fairly – proper, almost.

            He’s not paying much attention to Corun’s always-wandering paws, and so it comes as a great shock to him when the Tauren’s paw slips between Armenas’ hips and his own stomach to cup the growing bulge of his pants.

            “ _Ah!_ ”

            Corun’s fingers twitch and it sends Armenas into a small frenzy, hands grabbing at the fur under them even as they’re pinned down and hips rocking unsteadily in the Tauren’s large grasp.  The lewd thought that he could easily get off like this enters the sin’dorei’s head for a moment, until one of Corun’s massive fingertips rubs up his entire length and sends him back into a haze.

            Corun has fallen silent, now, and Armenas tips his head forward to look at the Tauren.  His eyes are bright and a little wide, almost in wonderment, fixed more on Armenas’ movements and body than his face.  When he glances up and sees the sin’dorei staring at him, however, he smiles and presses down harder; his paw, which had been going quite well with Armenas’ rocking motions, suddenly stiffens and holds him in place, drawing a plaintive kind of moan from him.

            “What are you _doing_ -?”

            “Do you want me to continue?”

            Armenas looks at Corun as though he were mad.  He thinks it’s fairly obvious what _he_ wants!

            “Promise to return the favor, then.”

            “How could I-!”  Armenas cuts himself off with a gasp when Corun’s paw twitches again before nodding quickly.  “I promise!”

            “Good.”

            Acting as though he’d just settled a business deal, Corun nods, looking smug.  Before Armenas can even call him on it, though, his paw _moves_ – the sin’dorei isn’t even sure how it moves, but it elicits a sharp cry and more frantic jerking.  His paw does it again, and then again, and Armenas realizes that the Tauren’s just pressing against him in a shaky sort of rhythm.  It feels _wonderful,_ and the sin’dorei stops holding back his moans and cries, shuddering each time Corun’s paw presses in around him.  He’s so close –

            “You need to take off your pants,” Corun observes, paw going still again and earning a cry of dismay this time.

            “I _need-_ ”

            “There’s no water near us.  Do you want to walk around in soiled clothing?”

            _Damn him,_ Armenas thinks blindly, hands pulling out of the Tauren’s loosened grasp to pull at his belt and pants hurriedly, _Damn him for stopping-!_

            The moment Armenas removes his pants, Corun’s paw slips back into place and presses up against him – this time, however, his other paw grabs the sin’dorei’s wrists and pulls, dragging him up his chest.  Armenas cries out and tries to press down into the fur, but Corun doesn’t stop _pulling_ , not until he has the sin’dorei’s belly to his muzzle – and then he tilts his head and _licks._

            Armenas nearly goes hoarse screaming, hands grabbing at whatever they can – the tree might be sturdy enough – and presses up against the Tauren’s muzzle, hips bucking.  Corun’s paws grab at his thighs and hold him in place, restraining his movements and making him cry out in something very close to fury.  _How dare he-!_   But then he licks again and Armenas digs his nails into the bark, hips twitching futilely.  The Tauren’s tongue is long and flat and it goes _everywhere,_ bringing Armenas back up to the edge without any trouble at all.

            The Tauren shifts under him suddenly, and he finds himself with his legs around Corun’s neck and his hips jutting in the air, one of the Tauren’s paws steadying him while the other reaches up and fists him completely.  Armenas tosses his head back and howls, shuddering violently before letting himself drop down, legs relaxing and Corun’s paw letting go of him so that he can curl, upside-down, on the slumped Tauren’s chest and stomach.

            “Oh, _gods,_ ” Armenas moans, eyes opening and squinting up at Corun, who’s licking his paw in mild amusement, eyes focused on the sin’dorei.  The sight is strangely arousing, and so he tilts his head back again, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

            It’s nearly ten minutes later when Corun shifts slightly, bringing Armenas’ dazed look back to his face.  The Tauren doesn’t look awkward at all – as if having a naked elf in his lap is an everyday occurrence – and he smirks.  “Remember,” he says, “You said you’d return the favor.”

            “...Ah,” Armenas murmurs, twisting at the waist and pressing his elbows and forearms into Corun’s stomach.  He eyes the other’s pants and its bulge with growing apprehension.  No – not quite apprehension...

            The sin’dorei hears the Tauren’s breathing quicken almost immediately after he reaches out with both hands, pressing down against Corun’s thick thighs.  The sound makes him lick his lips, and he struggles a moment with the mail in order to find the lacing in the front.  For every moment his hands are on him, Corun’s breathing gets that much more irregular, until he’s just shy of full on panting.  It’s a strange thrill for Armenas, to have so much power over someone – nearly as good as a full dose of arcane magic.

            He finishes with the lacing and pushes his hands beneath linen and mail, and makes a small noise.  “Oh,” he mutters – the vague outline he had seen and felt earlier is hardly a comparison to actually having Corun in hand.  He shifts, hips twitching as fur brushes against his bare skin, and uses his new position to help him pull Corun completely free.  _Oh_ doesn’t quite describe it.

            Feeling encouraged by Corun’s soft pants and the feeling of fur against his skin, Armenas shifts again, moaning slightly at the friction and sliding just a bit closer towards the Tauren’s groin.  He wonders, idly, if he can even do much for the other – after all, he isn’t nearly as capable as Corun seems to be, and he’s also much _smaller..._

            _No time like the present,_ the sin’dorei decides, and he leans in to wrap his mouth over the head.

            Corun groans and rolls his hips a little, barely controlling himself so that he doesn’t dislodge the sin’dorei, and Armenas groans in return as the friction begins anew.  His mouth is too small, so he can barely even cover the tip, and so he works the rest with his hands, stroking down either side slowly and softly.  The Tauren makes an annoyed noise, and so he pulls his head back, shooting Corun a smug look before going back and sucking.

            “Ahn-!”

            Armenas hears gravel crunching and looks over to see Corun’s pawls balling into fists against the ground, head tilted back against the tree.  His hips rock again and Armenas presses into the fur below him, hips jerking a bit themselves as he feels blood begin to pool again. His hands grip harder, now, and he begins to move his hands and mouth in a similar up-down rhythm.  The Tauren’s hooves dig into the dirt and he moans loudly, one handful of sand dropping back to the earth as Corun reaches out to grab Armenas’ long hair, tugging on it sharply.  This sin’dorei pulls his mouth away as he moans, rocking his hips again.

            “Gods...”

            Corun lets out a hoarse chuckle and then leans forward a bit, one paw gripping Armenas’ thigh so that he doesn’t slip down any further while the other moves from his hair to his mouth, one finger pressing against his lips.

            “Open up.”

            Armenas moans at the Tauren’s voice, which sounds throaty and out-of-sorts, and as soon as his lips part, he feels the finger press in against his tongue.

            “Suck.”

            The sin’dorei does so willingly, eyes half-lidded and fixed somewhere on the sand below as he sucks and licks at the finger in his mouth, hips rocking slightly back and forth. He can feel Corun shuddering under him, and he tightens his grip around the Tauren’s erection, breathing heavily through his nose.  By the time Corun pulls his paw away, Armenas is panting, and he nearly immediately latches his lips onto the Tauren’s erection.

            He doesn’t hear a moan this time; instead, there’s a shift of his paws and suddenly he can feel the saliva-slicked finger pressing up against him.  He jerks, pulling his mouth away so that he can turn and stare at Corun in mixed revulsion and lust.

            “Relax,” the Tauren simply says; and then he begins to push.

            Armenas does his best to take Corun’s words to heart, and finds himself crying out, pressing back against the probing finger.  His eyes clench shut and he grits his teeth, fingers tightening around Corun’s erection as he tries to decide whether the pain is too much or not.  Soon, though, the other paw – the one that had been holding onto his thigh so tightly – moves to push Armenas’ head back towards his straining member.

            “You promised,” Corun mutters, just before slamming his paw up against Armenas’ ass, impaling him.

            The sin’dorei cries out and takes the whole head into his mouth, sucking hard as he jerks away from the finger – and then back again, because it feels a hundred times worse without it, and the friction coming from rubbing against Corun’s fur is driving him _mad._   He finds himself pumping against the Tauren’s finger, hands sliding in the same rhythm as his hips, and he can only barely hear Corun’s cries above the rushing of his own blood.

            He feels himself getting close again, and he shudders, bucking wildly and pulling his mouth away long enough to rasp, “ _Please,_ ” before tilting his head to the side and licking along the entire length.  Corun makes a sobbing noise and pulls Armenas up with his free paw, pressing the sin’dorei’s back to his chest and slamming his paw against him feverishly.  The sin’dorei cries out and twists, burying his face in Corun’s neck, and he barely hears the other speak.

            “Touch yourself – finish it, _come on..._ ”

            Armenas hastily presses against the paw below him while one of his own wraps around himself, pumping up and down at a fast, uncontrollable pace, sobbing into the fur of Corun’s neck even as he releases, pressing down against the finger in him with a keening wail.

            Corun’s paw slams against him a few more times, riding out his release, and the sin’dorei slumps against his chest with a soft moan.

            “ _Gods_...”

            The Tauren doesn’t respond; he slowly pulls his paw away, and Armenas feels him grab his wrist and pull the sin’dorei’s hand up to his mouth.  He pulls his head away from the Tauren’s neck to watch Corun lick his hand clean, mouth hanging open as he pants.

            “Do that again.  Gods, _please._ ”

            Corun gives him a tired smirk.  “Desperate for a good reputation with my kind, huh.”

            Armenas surprises himself by sticking out his tongue in childish resentment, before looking down to see that Corun has spent himself, though he can’t remember when that happened.  There’s a sudden urge within him to give the Tauren the same show he had been given earlier, and so he twists, pushing out of Corun’s lap, before leaning over his thigh and licking him clean.

            When he looks up, Corun’s eyes are heavy-lidded and fixated on him.  He, in return, smirks.

            “I think we should take a break,” the Tauren finally responds, sounding tired but very, _very_ satisfied.  “Or else we’ll never get anything done.”

            “...Perhaps,” Armenas sighs, remembering that he has a bag of Zhevra hooves that he needs to return to the Crossroads.  “Are you heading towards the Crossroads?”

            “For now, yes.”  Corun shrugs.  “I wanted to visit the fairgrounds for Brewfest, actually.”  His eyes light up and he grins easily.  “How about I buy you a drink?”

            “That,” Armenas replies after a moment of false consideration, “sounds wonderful.”


End file.
